


two to tango

by someotherstorm (rumbrave)



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumbrave/pseuds/someotherstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>boyd and raylan lose a bet, and have to take a ballroom dancing lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two to tango

**Author's Note:**

> set in the "let love in" 'verse, though this is absurd and written for fun -- sometimes you just need ridiculousness, okay ?

**two to tango**

They sit in the car outside Studio B for ten minutes after they get there, the engine idling, neither of them making a move to open their respective doors.

Boyd clears his throat. “We need to go inside, Raylan.” 

Raylan stares out of the window, obstinate, knuckles tight on the steering wheel. “We don’t _need_ to do anything,” he says, carefully, tasting each word like it’s poisonous. 

“We’re gonna be late.” 

“Then we’ll be late.” 

“Raylan.” 

Raylan’s head snaps to the side, eyes narrowing. “ _Boyd_.” 

Boyd is giving him a look that makes Raylan want to punch him. Even more than usual. “We lost this bet fair and square, son. You don’t want to be one of those people, do you?”

“One of those people who ballroom dances? No, no, I do not. That settled? Good. Let’s go to a bar.” 

“One of those people who reneges on a bet,” Boyd clarifies. He shoots Raylan a grin. “Come on. I’m a good dancer. I’ll lead and everything.” 

“Following where you lead always gets me into trouble,” Raylan grouses, switching off the engine. He kicks the floorboard with ill-concealed annoyance. 

“Maybe so, Raylan. Maybe so. But at least you always have a good time,” Boyd says cheerfully. 

Raylan cuts his eyes at him like they’re knives and he’s trying to slice at skin, but Boyd doesn’t flinch. Maybe he’s not fooled, or maybe he likes to bleed, Raylan’s never figured out which it is.  
“That so?” 

Boyd leans over like he’s going to kiss him, right there in the parking lot. Raylan doesn’t flinch because he refuses to give an inch, ever, and he ignores the quiet voice that whispers _that’s a good reason why you’re in this situation, you know._

“Come on,” Boyd says, voice low-pitched and seductive, and then instead of kissing Raylan, he bites him on the neck. 

_And that’s another one,_ the voice chides him, as Raylan jerks the door open with a growl. 

The third reason isn’t there yet, but she goddamn better be. This is all her fault, anyway. 

* * *  
“What do you think the B’s for?” Boyd asks him, as they wait in the small lounge area for their class to start. 

Raylan is staring intently at a framed newspaper article on the wall about the studio and the owner, Ashley, who’s pictured with her tiny, tiny dog named Dulce. He’s ignoring Boyd, or trying to. People say doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result is the definition of crazy. Raylan would say it’s the definition of dating Boyd Crowder. 

And then he’d have to excuse himself to jump out of a window for saying _dating_ and _Boyd Crowder_ in the same sentence.

“Maybe it’s for _Boyd_.”

Raylan makes a noncommittal noise that totally counts as still ignoring, and continues reading. Dulce is Italian for _sweet_ , huh. 

“Or maybe...bisexual,” Boyd says, slyly. 

“How’s about _bratty_ It Wasn’t God That Made Honkey Tonk Angels and for a second he thinks maybe ballroom dancing won’t be as bad as he’s imagining, and then he realizes it’s his cell phone playing the song. 

“Hi, Ava,” Raylan says. “Sure is strange, you callin’ me when you should _be here right now_.” 

“Sorry, sorry! I really am on my way. Y’all find it okay?” 

“Can I say no? Because you know we did, Boyd’s like, the human GPS system. I can’t get lost if I want to.” 

“Aww,” Ava says, “That’s sweet.” 

“You’ll be here...?” Raylan prompts her, expecting an approximate ETA as an answer and getting a _yup_ in return. “Where are you?” He asks, suspicious. 

“Had to stop by Audrey’s. Things happened.” 

“Great, did you have to do some stuff, too?” Raylan rolls his eyes. “She had to go to Audrey’s,” he tells Boyd, wondering at the sheer absurdity of his life as he just told his boyfriend that their mutual girlfriend was running late to ballroom dancing lessons because she’d gotten stuck at her job being a madame. 

There were days he wanted to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming all of this. It varied on any given day if he wanted to wake up or not. 

“Y’all just behave and I’ll be there quick like a bunny, okay, baby?” 

Raylan sighs like he’s just been told he has to take a ballroom dancing class. Oh, wait. “You sure this don’t mean me and Boyd get out of this obligation by default, sugar?” Raylan goes for charm again. “You sure look nice today.” 

Next to him, Boyd starts laughing. 

“You ain’t even seen me yet,” Ava tells him pertly. “Stop tryin’ to use flattery and charm to get out of this. I expect that from the other one, not you.”

“What do you expect from me?” Raylan asks her, smiling a little. Her and Boyd, the both of them, have some unholy talent at making him do that. 

“To do the right thing, federal deputy law man,” Ava drawls. “Which means honorin’ your bets...hey, asshole, you give me the finger and I will blow your goddamn tires out, that’s a four-way stop not a _go when you damn well feel like it_ one!” 

“Tell Ava to stop talkin’ and drivin’ before she shoots someone,” Boyd interrupts, as if on cue. 

“You tell him I heard that!” Ava yells in his ear.

“Him and the rest of Studio B heard you, darlin’,” Raylan tells her. “Now hush up and drive, me and Boyd gotta go Tango.” 

* * *  
There are two couples, the instructor, and the two of them in the class. 

The two couples are learning how to dance for their respective weddings. They are pointedly not looking at Raylan and Boyd. One of the girls is really hot, which is distracting but also kind of nice if they both have to be here.

The instructor is grinning at them. He’s around Boyd’s height, lean and clearly at home with the fact he’s a ballroom dance instructor. He actually looks kind of insufferably smug, which is probably Raylan finds him somewhat attractive. _Infuriating_ is apparently his type. 

“My name is Adrian,” he says, holding his hand out to Boyd and Raylan in turn. “You’re here for your first class?” 

“That’s right,” Boyd says, easily, smiling as he shakes Adrian’s hand. “My friend here has two left feet.” 

“Clogging doesn’t count as dancing,” Raylan snaps at him, which is untrue and also makes him sound like he’s a dick, because these people don’t know that Boyd is evil and shouldn’t be around decent folks. 

“What you do _definitely_ don’t count, then. It barely counts as walking.” 

“Since you’re so good at that, Mr. Expert, you can walk home. Or clog. I don’t care.” 

“You two are...here to learn for a...special event?” Adrian interrupts, stepping between their bickering like an expert. It’s not nearly as cute as it is when Ava does it, either. 

“Kind of,” Raylan answers, shooting Boyd a death glare. _Do not tell this guy why we are here, or I will pound your face in the cement._ “Someone else should be here 

“We lost a bet with our girlfriend.” 

Goddamn it, what is the point? Raylan looks up at the ceiling, counting to three. “He lost the bet.” 

“No, I’m pretty sure it was you.” 

“Actually --” 

“We should get started,” Adrian says hastily. “We’ll start in promenade position.” 

The two couples move smoothly towards each other, arms up and raised and settling into the position with familiarity. 

Boyd and Raylan stare at each other like they’re about to draw down. Boyd grins at him, all bright and fierce. “You know what they say,” he says, quiet enough for only Raylan to hear him. “It’s high noon somewhere.” 

Raylan forgets, sometimes, how Boyd used to make him laugh long before he ever made him moan, or walk away, or pull a trigger. Raylan doesn’t smile but he relaxes, the tension leaving his shoulders and he holds his arms up, waiting, like it’s a dare.

Boyd doesn’t back down and he never walks away, so Raylan’s not surprised when he moves in and assumes some approximation of whatever “promenade” position is supposed to be. Boyd’s skin is cool to the touch, but Raylan’s blood heats up like it always does when they get this close. 

“Stop looking at me like that, cowboy,” Boyd murmurs, eyes gleaming. “Or else we’re gonna give these people more of a show than we already are. Studio B is for _Bawdy_.” Boyd says the last word like there’s a rebel yell in the middle of it. 

Raylan’s grin flashes quick before he hides it in mock concentration, trying to focus on whatever Adrian is saying instead of how Boyd’s body is _right there_ , and when he’s that close it usually means he and Raylan are doing something that is only considered _dancing_ if you watch a lot of martial arts movies. Or porn. 

It’s distracting, right up until they have to start practicing and a problem makes itself apparent before they get two steps into their tango. 

“Oh,” Adrian says, smiling like he knows something that Raylan is one-hundred percent sure he doesn’t know the half of (like, the hot blond half with tits and _where is Ava_ , anyway?). “You can’t both lead, so...one of you has to...” Adrian waves a hand. “Not-lead.” 

“He was going to say _be the girl_ and then changed his mind,” Raylan tells Boyd. “But whatever, it’s you.” 

Boyd’s eyebrows raise. “Is that so.” 

“Yup.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m taller than you.” That seems, to Raylan, like irrefutable logic. 

“But you’re prettier.” 

Right. He momentarily forgot that Boyd Crowder has no irrefutable logic, unless it’s his own. “Boyd.” 

“All right, go on. My masculinity is not threatened by you leading in a tango neither one of us knows how to do.” 

“Your confidence gets me hot.” Raylan steps forward and Boyd moves smoothly backwards along with him, and they complete the first four steps without falling over. 

“Good!” Adrian claps. “Very good. Let’s try that again. This time, try and be a little less stiff.” He’s addressing the whole class, but Raylan thinks that’s aimed at him and Boyd. “You do like each other, right?” 

Raylan and Boyd look at each other and laugh. 

Raylan hasn’t danced since his wedding, at which he was very young and very drunk and also, dancing with a pretty girl in a dress. Boyd isn’t any of these things, and neither is Raylan (though he would really like to be drunk), but he’s also very competitive and contrary, so he tries. 

Things are all right until there’s a spin involved. Raylan spins Boyd like he’s trying to throw him over a table, and Adrian hurries over to demonstrate the correct form. He’s a good dancer and so is Boyd, actually, with someone who knows what he’s doing. 

Raylan watches with his arms crossed, scowling and he is absolutely _not jealous_ , that’s dumb. He’s just annoyed he’s taking ballroom dancing lessons and Boyd is trying to sabotage them by turning incorrectly when it’s Raylan trying to turn him. Out of spite or something. Obviously. 

Boyd laughs and Adrian is smiling at him, and Raylan knows exactly what’s going on, here -- Adrian must like guys (Raylan doesn’t want to stereotype or anything, but the guy’s teaching _ballroom dancing lessons_ , okay?), and so he’s hitting on Raylan’s...Boyd. 

“There, try it again.” Adrian smiles at Raylan, who glares back at him. 

_I’m onto you, Johnny Castle._

Boyd’s giving him a strange look but Raylan just grabs his arm and pulls at him, yanks him back into whatever the hell that starting position was called. “Twirl right this time, damn it,” he growls, and his fingers are a little tighter than they should be on Boyd’s wrist. Maybe he’s holding him a little closer than he should, too, but it’s ballroom dancing, isn’t it? 

Raylan is so determined to be very good at this that, when the music starts, he totally forgets the part where they’re supposed to do some steps before the spinning thing and flings his arm out dramatically. Boyd, who is actually pretty good at going with the flow and, as it were, adapting to Raylan’s dramatics, throws his arm out with a flourish and gives Raylan a strange look. “Did you even bother to count that?” 

Raylan has no idea what that means, so he snaps, “Yes, obviously,” and yanks him back to try it again. 

He remembers the steps the next time, but forgets the spin. Goddamn it, why is this _hard_? It’s dancing! On movies, everyone does it all at once! There are like, sixteen television reality shows about it! Hell, half of Harlan County can dance! _Dickie Bennett_ dances! 

“If Dickie can dance, I can,” he tells Boyd, who looks momentarily confused before Raylan twirls him again. “You’re not good at twirling.” 

“I see why you brought him in,” Adrian says to Boyd, sympathetically -- sympathetically! -- and then tells them to switch partners, so he and Boyd can dance with “the ladies.” 

The girl dancing with Raylan looks kind of terrified, probably because he’s been sort of obnoxious. Damn it, this is why he played baseball. 

Raylan tones down the scowling and smiles at his partner -- Kate -- or tries to, because she keeps staring at his chest the whole time. It turns out Raylan isn’t very good at dancing with her, either. 

He’s suddenly very mad at Ava for not being there. He’s pretty sure they would dance _great_ together, though he has no reason to think that, especially when they switch partners again and it turns out that he’s just not good at dancing with _anyone_. 

Boyd, who could charm the Devil out of his horns if he wanted, is very good at it. 

“Boyd, see, he’s very good at leading without, um. Being quite so...forceful?” Adrian clears his throat. “You’re supposed to manipulate your partner with subtle cues into going where you want them to go, not...well. It’s supposed to be something that the audience doesn’t really notice, so it’s like you’re moving together instead of one person controlling the other. The tango is kind of like...one of you is stalking the other.”

Raylan actually is concerned for a moment that his mouth is hanging open. “Well, goddamn, boy. No wonder he’s so good at it. You hear that, Boyd? They should name this goddamn dance after you.” 

Across the floor, Boyd bows at the waist. “We all have our talents, Raylan. If there was some activity that involved standing stiffly and glowering a lot, you would surely be the best at it.” 

“He didn’t say you were the _best_ ,” Raylan says hotly, as Boyd returns to partner him again. “Just better than me.” 

“Well, now, Raylan, that’s the same thing, far as I’m concerned.”

“I am going to smack that look off your face,” Raylan tells him, low, trying and completely failing at the whole _subtle_ thing. “Studio B for _Brutal_.” 

Boyd snorts. “Studio B for _Bitchslap_ , you mean.” 

Raylan is not laughing at that, he’s _not_. Besides, whatever, he might not be good at dancing but he can fucking smack Boyd Crowder in the face, he is _very_ good at that. “I’ll trip you.” 

“You’re gonna do that anyway, ain’t much of a threat.” Boyd shifts their arms, which Raylan lets him do because he’s tense again and holding his too tightly and they’re starting to ache in the unfamiliar position. “I’m gonna tell Ava you need to start with line dancing. The ones where they tell you what to do and it’s mostly clappin’, and you ain’t gotta do nothin’ with nobody but yourself.” 

Raylan misses the music cue because he’s annoyed, so he’s one stop behind as Boyd starts dancing. “I know who’s gonna be doin’ nothin’ with nobody but themselves, and it ain’t me,” Raylan tells him, staring at Boyd like he’s trying to rip things off of him. 

Like clothes. Or his face. But probably the first one. 

“Raylan, you ever notice how you use unspecified, nonsensical threats in place of endearments when you talk to me?” 

“No, Boyd, I can’t say that I do. The reason I don’t use endearments, by the way, is because I don’t feel real nice about you very often, and when I do, usually you’re doin’ something else with your mouth besides bothering me.”

“Bothering you.” Boyd moves easily into a turn, and Raylan turns with him, moving up in his space aggressively to prove some point he’s completely lost somewhere along the way. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” 

“Oh, you are not.” Raylan almost says something else, but Adrian is suddenly right there beside them again. 

“That was a good choice to let Boyd lead, Raylan,” Adrian says, soothingly, like Raylan is a hissing cat. 

Raylan stares at him blankly for a minute, because he had no idea that’s what he’d done. Thinking back, though, of course he had. He’d been annoyed and Boyd knew it, used it to get him where he wanted him and for some reason Raylan thinks about Ava’s, and not how he knows it now, as home -- but as a place where he knelt next to Boyd while he bled out on the floor, gasping up at the ceiling and fighting to breathe. 

Or his office in Lexington, Boyd lying amidst the sea of broken glass that Raylan threw him into. 

They’re always doing this in some way or another, aren’t they? Fighting to see who leads and who follows, until Raylan gets too angry or worked up to notice they’re even dancing anymore. Then someone bleeds and it’s Raylan’s fault, Raylan apologizing, Raylan realizing he was an idiot all along. 

Raylan drops his arms and steps back. “Think I’m done dancin’,” he tells Boyd, quietly, and turns to walk off the floor. 

* * * 

Outside, Raylan checks his phone and finds three messages from Ava. One is a hurried, “Promise I’m coming, promise,” the next is a grudging admission they don’t have to do the class since she’s clearly going to miss it, and the third is just Ava swearing and telling Raylan she’ll meet him and Boyd at Raylan’s place in Lexington in an hour or so, and “you boys better have some whiskey and some energy after dancin’, ‘cause I’m gonna need both.” 

Boyd appears a few minutes later, and he climbs in the car without a word. The drive to Raylan’s apartment is a quiet one, for the most part -- Raylan relays the information about Ava, and Boyd asks if he has good whiskey and not just Ten High because Ava will point at him and laugh if that’s all he’s got. 

“Got some Wild Turkey from the last time,” Raylan says, almost surly like he’s annoyed to have to admit it. 

They don’t say anything else. 

Raylan’s place in Lexington is actually a small rental house near the University, with a tiny front porch and white siding, hardwood floors and street parking. Ava always says she feels like she’s in college when they stay here for the weekend, which isn’t often. Raylan usually goes to Harlan on the weekends, but having the two of them stay in the apartment over the bar was getting a little crowded. 

There’s not much more space in his little one bedroom, but it seems that way. And there are a lot of students around, meaning the three of them sometimes have a beer on the front porch and enjoy the eye candy. Ava gets a lot of invitations to parties when she’s there. Raylan thinks about her standing in the yard at some ridiculous college kid kegger, holding a red solo cup, and it makes him smile. 

He’s not smiling now, and he and Boyd don’t sit on the porch but they do start drinking almost immediately. Raylan puts the Wild Turkey bottle on the counter but he grabs two beers out of the fridge and hands one to Boyd, then stalks into the living room and falls sulkily onto the couch, legs stretched out in front of him. Boyd goes and messes with Raylan’s stereo, flipping through until finds a station with some rock music. 

Raylan is starting to get annoyed by the silence, but he’ll be damned if he says something first. He keeps glaring at Boyd, though, who finally looks up from the book he’s reading and says, calmly, “Somethin’ on your mind, Raylan?” 

“You know, if you’re pissed, you could just say so.” 

Boyd’s eyebrows go up. “I don’t recall havin’ a problem doin’ that in the past, but thank you for the permission.”

“Oh, shut up,” Raylan snaps, sinking lower in the chair. He takes a long pull of his beer, and then he sighs. “I was acting like an asshole, wasn’t I.” 

“You surely were, Raylan.”

“Well, I ain’t very good at dancin’,” Raylan mutters, putting his beer on the table next to him. He folds his hands over his stomach, staring straight ahead at the flat-screen television on the wall. That and a Playstation 3 were his only splurges for decor when he moved in. 

“You ain’t very good at not being good at things,” Boyd points out reasonably. 

“Well, who is? And don’t say you, ‘cause you ain’t.” 

“All right.” 

Raylan waits a little longer, then turns his head and smiles a little. “I was gonna punch that guy in the face.” 

Boyd cocks his head. “What guy would that be? Me?”

“You’d think that, but no. Not this time. I meant the...” Raylan waves his hand and makes a face. “The dancin’ guy. Adrian. I bet that isn’t even his _name_.” 

Boyd laughs. “Why isn’t that his name?”

“Who’s even named that?” Raylan tips his head back and sighs. “He was hitting on you.”

“He was not.” 

“Don’t be modest, he was so.” 

“Have you ever known that to be a problem of mine, Raylan?” 

Raylan turns his head and grins. “Nope. What, you just didn’t notice?” 

“Wasn’t anything to notice,” Boyd says, shrugging. 

“Maybe you were flirting with him.” 

“Maybe?” Boyd snorts. “I am pretty sure you’ll know if I am hitting on men in front of you, Raylan.” 

“Would I, though? Would I, really?” Raylan scowls, pitches his voice higher even though it is in no way an approximation of how their ballroom dance instructor spoke. “ _You have to subtly manipulate in order to get your partner to move_ , right?” 

“I must confess I am clueless as what you’re talkin’ about, but I’m gonna go ahead and say _sure_ just so you’ll keep goin’. It’s funny as hell.” 

“Whatever. You probably know I get jealous so you’re...flirting with guys to make me mad.” 

“Raylan, getting you mad is as easy as the sun risin’ in the mornin’. Ain’t like I need to go out of my way to do that.” 

“That’s what I mean!” Raylan stands up, a sudden burst of graceful motion, unfolding his tall frame so he’s suddenly looming over Boyd on the chair. “You know how much shit you make me do when I don’t...when I don’t want to?” 

“Watch what you say, here, boy,” Boyd drawls, completely not intimidated by Raylan’s stance. He still looks amused, the bastard. “Or you ain’t gonna get me doin’ nothin’ at all for a good long while.”

“You are so full of shit, there is no way you’ll go without sex.” 

Boyd grins at him, toothy and wide. “I got Ava.” 

“Tell her you just said you’re gonna fuck her ‘cause I won’t put out, and see how long that lasts.”

“What? I didn’t say nothin’ of the sort, Raylan, I just said I wouldn’t technically be going without sex but of course,” he adds, smoothly, clearly placating Raylan, “I would weep quiet tears of sorrow if you were to withhold physical affection from me.” 

Raylan stares at him for two seconds without speaking, moving, or blinking. “I don’t -- it’s like you have some pipeline in your brain into, like, weird shit to say.” 

Boyd nods, very seriously. “Just like that.” 

“Stop agreeing with me,” Raylan says, cranky, raking a hand through his hair. He’s being ridiculous again, but he can’t seem to stop. 

“Raylan, I am mystified at what, precisely, has you so worked up.” Boyd suddenly relaxes, sprawls in some boneless way that looks inviting and slutty and challenging all at the same time. “And if you can’t articulate it, why don’t you climb on my lap and tell me some other way.” 

Raylan crosses his arms and glares. “I get tired of you manipulating me into doin’ shit in anger that I don’t want to do.”

“Well, now, that seems like your fault,” Boyd points out, eyes glinting. “Not mine.” 

“You’re doin’ it again.” 

There’s a flash of something like anger in Boyd’s expression, and his inviting pose closes up as he straightens in the chair, leans forward with his elbows on his knees and looks up at him. Raylan finds it incredibly attractive, the way Boyd doesn’t let Raylan’s height intimidate him, but he’s not going to point that out right now. Or ever, probably. 

“I am tryin’ to get you to do somethin’, but it ain’t argue or...whatever you’re concocting in that feverish Raylan brain of yours,” Boyd says, eyes narrowed. “You seem irrationally angry about somethin’ that is either juvenile or don’t make much sense, neither of which I think I has to do with me --” 

“You never think anything has to do with you,” Raylan interjects hotly, flushed. 

Boyd gives him a shit-eating grin. “And you think everything does, so I guess it’s a good thing we got Ava around to balance us out.” 

Raylan’s mouth twitches. “Everything probably is about her.”

“Or should be.”

“We are lucky bastards, aren’t we?” Raylan gives up and climbs on Boyd, straddling him in the chair. 

“The luckiest. This chair, however, may not share that particular trait as I do not think it’s been designed with these feats of gymnastics in mind.”

Raylan, all aggressive and pushy on his lap, makes a frustrated noise and leans down to bite him on the neck. “The chair ain’t gonna hold us, you mean?” 

“Yeah,” Boyd murmurs, voice suddenly rough, tilting his head. “If it breaks, are you gonna blame me?” 

“Always,” Raylan says, and kisses him.


End file.
